I bent slightly at my back, and with my knees, to set the grocery bag that I was gripping with both hands on the floor next to my register. The golden haired, blue-eyed boy looked up at me and smiled as the bag came to a rest on the linoleum. I went back to bagging the remaining items and talking with the mom while her daughter milled about next to her. I placed another bag on the floor when I noticed the little boy playing with the first bag, running his small hands over it's paper handles.

"That's a heavy bag," I noted with a smile, examining it's contents: a gallon of milk, a half-gallon of chocolate milk and some other light, space filling items.

"I can lift it," he said and proceeded to slip his arm, up to the bicep, through the handles. With a flex of his back and hips he unrested the bag, lifting if off the floor, his body shaking under the strain. He let the bag fall back to the floor, the paper handles coming to about chest level on his childish body.

"Wow, how'd you do that?" I exclaimed, both impressed and a little concerned for his safety.

"I'm a strong boy!" the 4-year old replied.

"Yeah, you are."

"I'm a strong boy," he repeated, again slipping his arm through the handles, up to the shoulder, and lifting the bag-- this time with greater ease, pushing up onto his to toes for added effect. He set the bag down, his smile showing the pride he had in his accomplishment.

Not one to be outdone by little brother, his sister came around the corner and assessed the situation.

"I'm a strong girl."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I can lift... my mom and my dad!"

"With what, a fork-lift?"

"No, with my hand," as she displayed the hand, raising it above her head.

"Wow, you are strong."

I turned to look at the mom who had been silently watching with a smile.

"What are you feeding them?!," I joked, looking at the assortment of groceries on the counter that still needed bagging.

She looked at the groceries herself and broke out in laughter, exclaiming, "Really!" and shaking her head in amusment at her children.